Dirty Secret

It's smart.

But not for Cam.

He doesn't like women after he fucks them. That's what he said.

"What do you think, Sienna?" Eve tries to invite me into the conversation. "Is there sex without intimacy?"

"For some people. But I think guys are more attached than they want to believe." I turn to Cam. Study his expression. "I dated this guy junior year for a few months. We didn't have sex. He was saving himself."

"Really?" Eve asks.

"Yeah. He was religious," I say.

Cam's shoulders relax.

I try to maintain a poker face. "We didn't have sex. But we walked all the way up to the line. And after… he was obsessed with me."

"Obsessed how?" Eve asks.

Cam's eyes fix on me.

"He always wanted to talk to me. To know how I was. To tell me how much he missed my lips. How much he wanted to kiss me again. Maybe it wasn't sex—"

"Is this a Bill Clinton definition of sex?" Ian asks.

"She's too young to know that reference," Cam says.

"Everyone knows that reference," I say. When he was caught having an affair with an intern, Bill Clinton suggested a blow job wasn't sex.

Which is silly. It's oral sex. Sex is in the name.

I know what to say. I know how to make Cam jealous. It's already in his eyes. He's trying to hide it, but it's as clear as day.

But I won't.

I'll be honest.

"If anyone participates in another person's orgasm, it's sex," I say.

"So if I call Eve and ask her to take off her knickers and touch herself," Ian says.

"It's called phone sex. It's in the name," Cam says.

"What if it's a text?" I ask.

Cam's eyes meet mine. "Both people are participating."

"Right." My cheeks flush. "So it's sex."

"Not if you can't hear," Ian says. "Where's the fun in that?"

"You don't want to know when I fuck myself?" Eve asks.

"Of course. But I'd prefer to listen," Ian says.

She blushes.

He brings his hand to her cheek.

Boom.

They're making out.

All right, it goes a little slower than that. They stare for about two seconds. Lean for another two seconds.

Then, boom, sucking face.

Like, seriously going at it. Groaning and kissing and putting their hands in totally inappropriate places.

"Will they fuck if we leave?" I ask.

"They'll fuck if we stay." He raises his voice, so both of them will hear. "Ian never tires of bragging about his exhibitionism."

It's really more her exhibitionism, but I don't want to encourage them.

Ian ignores Cam. Or doesn't hear.

I'm not sure which is more alarming.

Cam shakes his head ridiculous. Turns to me. "You need a drink."

"I do."

"Keep your trousers zipped, Ian." Cam offers me his hand.

"He can still get her off," I say.

"I can't prevent a woman's orgasm," he says.

I take his hand.

His smile is effortless. The Cam I know well.

The fun loving party animal who teases me.

Only stiffer, slower, not quite himself.

Distracted.

Not by Ian's banter or their make-out session or the occasion.

By how much he wants me.

Chapter Nineteen

Cam

Sienna moves closer as we step into the restaurant. Her bare arm brushes my suit jacket. Her fingers curl into the soft wool.

"This does feel comfortable." Again, she moves closer. "I can see why you wear it all the time."

"Do you want to try it on?" I need the shield, yes, but I'm burning up. She's too fucking close. I want to touch her too fucking badly.

I promised to stop flirting with her.

I can't start now. No matter how badly I want to slide her into my lap, roll her dress to her waist, rub her over her knickers—

Fuck.

My cock stirs.

I thank the genius who invented tailored wool. It's not comfortable in my current state, but it's better than advertising my desire to fuck her.

"Later, maybe," she says. "It's a cool night."

"You're barely wearing anything."

"I'm wearing a dress." She steps to the bar. "Longer than Eve's."

"You're taller," I say. "And she's wearing boots."

"She wears combat boots all the time," she says. "It's some kinky thing with her and Ian."

"He likes her in only the boots."

"I know."

"You object?"

"No. I get it," I say.

"Picture Messi in only his cleats?"

"No." She smiles. "The shin guards and socks too."

Fuck. Now that's in my head. Sienna in her football uniform. Minus the jersey, sports bra, shorts, knickers.

And then it's her, and my fucking head hurts.

It's too quiet in here. How can a restaurant be so quiet?

"Cam?" Sienna's fingers curl into my suit jacket. It's soft. Tender, not carnal. "I can order for you, but I don't know anything about wine."

"What did you order?" I ask.

"A Blue Sapphire martini."

"You realize a martini is almost all gin?" I ask.

"Wow, you don't say? Really?" She rolls her eyes. "It's Bombay Sapphire and Blue Curacao. I think I'll be okay."

It sounds revolting, but not in the way she likes. "Is it sweet?"

"It can be," the bartender interrupts. "You want it wet, honey?"

Her eyes light up. "Wet?"

Fuck me.

He smiles. Shoots her a flirty wink. "More vermouth, usually. In this, more Blue Curacao"